Balanced and Tied (Marshals #5) Read Online Mary Calmes

Categories Genre: Crime, M-M Romance, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Marshals Series by Mary Calmes

Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Balanced and Tied (Marshals #5)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Mary Calmes Books

Book Information:

Deputy US Marshal Eli Kohn is doing fine. As the Director of Public Affairs for the Northern District, he represents the USMS in Chicago and that suits him. Yes, it’s wearing to always be on, to smile and wave even in the face of adversity, but he’s good at his job, and no one ever sees him sweat. His personal life, though, has been stagnant, and that doesn’t seem likely to change. But that’s fine too. Eli would much rather spend his free time with his best friend Cel. And lately, when they’re not together, he’s been missing him more and more…

Celso Harrington, principal dancer with the Chicago Ballet Company, has been feeling adrift, yearning for someone to be there for him, to ground him. Strange to find that anchor in a man who caught bad guys for a living. Celso is all about art and beauty; Eli is all about safety and public service. They could not be more different, yet from the moment they met, it felt like they’d known each other forever.

They are exactly what the other needs, and Celso would love them to be more than friends, but he can’t jeopardize what they have, and Eli’s too stuck inside his own head. When events threaten to unravel their carefully built haven, they each must take a chance on the other or risk losing everything.
Books in Series:

Marshals Series by Mary Calmes

Books by Author:

Mary Calmes Books



It was amazing how something that was supposed to be routine never failed to take a turn into crazy. What was even more ridiculous, by this time in my career, was how I didn’t count on it and dress accordingly.

“Eli! What are you doing?” Ian Doyle yelled from where he was running, maybe six feet in front of me. “Get the hell up here!”

He, of course, was in cargo pants, jump boots, and a hoodie emblazoned with the words U.S. Marshal on the back, but me, I was running in a Hugo Boss suit and Prada wingtips. The suit was constrictive and the shoes had no traction, but that was no fault of my wardrobe. I wasn’t supposed to be running. I was here to survey, to take notes so I would have all the facts at the press conference later. I couldn’t stress enough…I was not supposed to be running.

My two-person team was in Schaumberg to take video early in the morning, get pictures, and collect information in what appeared to be a normal suburban neighborhood outside a home that had turned out to be the house where Greg Polk and Marla Edmonds had kept missing and kidnapped women they bought and sold. The couple worked with drug dealers, gangs, cartels, and syndicates. Everyone from Russian oligarchs to the guy who wanted a new playmate. They made deals, women in exchange for money, drugs, and weapons. The latter, they then turned around and sold. They also catered to registered sex offenders who would have been in trouble hanging out at clubs or colleges but could drop by and buy a woman from the supposedly loving couple their neighbors reported “always had a lot of company.”

I understood why some people in law enforcement occasionally went off the rails and took justice into their own hands. Sometimes it seemed like the only worthy choice.

Railing at different agencies would get you nowhere, as most of them were understaffed and fighting an uphill battle against budget cuts. There was also an ongoing dispute concerning undocumented women who had come to the US to work, only to find themselves forced into sexual servitude. The issue was not helped by the fact that many of them came from countries where law enforcement was not to be trusted, and on top of that, there was the language barrier. A recipe for disaster all around.

What had not helped anything was the pandemic. In the early days of it, back in 2020, so many women in domestic abuse situations had fallen through the cracks. They might have been working with people in different agencies to flee their abusers, but suddenly we were all in lockdown, and for them, there was no way out. Many were simply lost. No one could find where they’d gone or what had become of them. All this had been spiraling for years now, and in the case of the couple in Schaumberg, law enforcement had finally caught up with them.

The busts took place just after dawn, and as the women, most just over eighteen, were being walked out, shrouded from the press under police and marshal raid jackets, I was about to give a few comments to the reporters on site ahead of the press conference we would have later at our building in Daley Plaza downtown. As usual, that was when a man went barreling by me, nearly knocking me over, followed closely by Ian Doyle and no one else. Then, I was in pursuit as well, because two things happened simultaneously. First, my training kicked in. No marshal was ever allowed to be alone, if possible. And two, Ian Doyle was my friend. I would not, could not, let him pursue a suspect by himself.

I forgot the earpiece was in until he growled at me. “The fuck, Eli, did you forget how to run?”

The second he passed me, he’d counted on me being behind him, so I got to bear the brunt of his anger that the fugitive had not responded to Ian telling him to get on the ground. Not that it ever worked unless a weapon was drawn and pointed at someone. Ian being loud wasn’t going to stop anyone who didn’t know him. If they did, they understood that, with or without being armed, Ian was lethal.

Everything had started out so well. We cleared twenty-five warrants, had so far arrested twelve people along with the main couple, and our task force of state and local agencies had gone off without a hitch. Ever since Ian was made Deputy Director, in charge of all the liaison work, things had gone so much smoother in all interagency situations. Less shenanigans, more camaraderie. Of course, that didn’t take into consideration me and Ian, now alone, running through backyards, over fences, around pools, leaping over flower beds, and maneuvering around dogs and scattered toys and bikes. Bikes, I’d found out years before, especially children’s bikes, were the devil. You thought you were clear, but then the handlebars could snag you, or the spokes in the wheels. Falling on top of them was painful, and I knew from experience.